Cold Comfort
by MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: Loki loves breaking Natasha's rules. Blackfrost oneshot, complete.
1. Cold Comfort

**Cold Comfort**

* * *

Loki was asleep on Natasha's pillow, breaking one of her major rules, when she returned from the bathroom. She had a deep barrier when it came to nonsense like cuddling or staying over. Barton was allowed to sleep on the couch if they stayed up too late drinking beer or watching one of his baseball games. Anyone else had to leave when she wanted to get some sleep.

Natasha rubbed the beading on the rim of her vodka glass and frowned at the motionless god. Her shoulder was giving her hell, a recent op compounding an old injury. Her super serum neutralized most issues, but there was a XM25 fragment from a smart bullet lodged under the fifth vertebra. It would take surgery and follow-up physical therapy to heal. She had no time for that shit, along with everything the process entailed: hospital stay, visitors, get-well-soon cards…

She shuddered, swallowed the last of the spirits in her glass, and pounded it onto the nightstand loudly enough to wake the neighbors. Loki never moved. His face was calm, eyelashes fanned over high cheekbones, eyebrows slightly raised as though his dreams astonished him by the breadth of the visions. Natasha rubbed her shoulder and considered her version of therapy for the injury. Shooting session with Clint in the gym. Huge bottle of vodka. A long bout of sex with Loki. And now, sleep – as soon as she could get him out of her bed.

"Hey." Natasha plopped onto the mattress and shook him. "It's late. You've got to get out of here so I can get some sleep."

His eyelids flickered, and before she knew what was happening Natasha found herself drawn into the pillow, back against Loki's chest, one arm under her neck, the other curving up to cup the same shoulder that hurt so much. "Hey!" she shouted. "I don't do this kind of thing. Let me go, dumb ass!" She struggled, but the silent god never moved.

Before Natasha could kick him in the crotch she felt his palm grow cool, even colder than his usual temperature. Under his fingers the skin of her shoulder chilled, reaching under the layers of skin to the muscles, even bone. It felt incredible. Her protests died, and Natasha tried moving a bit closer. Loki's breath evened against her hair, although his thumb moved in a soft, slow rhythm against the place where she ached the most. It seemed he knew her inside and out.

_Just a few minutes,_ Natasha promised herself. Under his touch the grinding ache she lived with dulled, stopped stabbing her with the constant reminder that her salary meant compromising her own flesh.

* * *

The Doppler effect of a passing ambulance woke her. Natasha jumped to high alert instantly, hit the floor with her Glock ready, pushed the door open with her toe. Someone was in her apartment, setting her nerves to screaming point.

The intruder was in her kitchen, making breakfast. Loki put two steaming plates on her tiny kitchen bar and raised one eyebrow at the pistol. "I promise it will be delicious," he drawled. "No need to shoot me just yet."

"Nobody eats with me." Natasha lowered the gun, prepared to kick his butt out of her apartment. Despite the mind-blowing sex, she always knew it would be a mistake to hook up with such a sarcastic asshole – not to mention he had broken two of her rules in less than 24 hours.

Loki's eyes shuttered, and his lips spread in one of his depraved grins. "What about your shoulder?" He lifted a fork filled with what looked like Eggs Benedict and held it in front of her lips.

"It's…" Natasha stopped. The pain was gone. Experimentally she swiveled her head, rolled her shoulders. "Howja know about it, anyway? What the hell, Loki?"

He waved the fork. "I have my ways."

_Damn him._ The food smelled incredible. Natasha took a bite, closed her eyes as bacon, eggs, and butter combined on her tongue. There was coffee to go with it, hot and strong. Somehow he had gotten his hands on fresh figs, so cool and ripe they burst from their skins.

Natasha and Loki ate in silence. At least he didn't attempt breakfast conversation, but the Glock was tucked in her waistband just in case. Loki took a sip of coffee, dug in the pocket of his robe, and produced a leather-bound book with what looked like runic writing on the spine and opened it to read. After that she was able to relax and enjoy the coffee, eggs, and freedom from the constant pain.

When they finished, Natasha grabbed the plates and slung them in the sink. By the time she emerged, the shower was already hissing, and she gritted her teeth. Rule number three: no one showered in her apartment.

"Get the fuck out," she stormed, bursting into the tiny room.

At least, it _had_ been tiny. Loki had transformed it into an impossible space, lined with thick carpets. An alabaster sink with sluiced faucets sat in a long expanse of granite counter. White towels hung from heated racks. There was a bath sunk into the floor, and huge windows of old-fashioned wavy mullions revealed a magical view: long green lawns with tree-lined avenues and stone courts in the distance.

As for the shower, it was glassed off in the far corner – a long expanse with what looked like five shower-heads. The god of mischief was squirting shampoo into his long, black hair under one of them. "I can soothe your shoulder again, agent, if you wish it," he called.

A cool breeze brushed over her, and Natasha saw her pajamas had disappeared. _Fuck._ She strode to the glass barrier, yanked it open, and yelped as her bones ground together with the action. Loki shook his head and drew her in with firm, soapy hands. "Your temper will be the death of you," he murmured into her neck.

"That's ironic, coming from you." She couldn't help moaning and tilting her head back when his clever fingers found the ache, soothed her muscles.

"We really must do something permanent about this," he commented. "If you come with me to Asgard the healers could take care of you."

Natasha shook water out of her eyes. "See, that's exactly what I don't want. No hospitals, no visitors, no Oh Natasha You Really Must Take Better Care of Yourself."

"Mm. I couldn't agree more." The combination of warm water and Loki's cool palms was turning her knees into jelly. "But you are talking about backwards Midgardian medicine. I assure you in Asgard there would be no need to stay longer than a few hours. Hence no visitors, no solicitous fools."

"Plus, it's another of my rules. I don't go on vacations with other people, so you can forget your little jaunt."

"Rules, such delightful things – for me to break. I have already broken your others, yes? So why not this one while we are at it?" He cupped her breast, skimmed the tender skin over her abdomen.

She managed to come to her senses, break away from Loki's grasp, and turn to face the laughing god. Fists on her hips, Natasha frowned. "Why do you care? I get the feeling your concerns are all for yourself."

"Exactly." Smoothly Loki drew her back into his arms and nuzzled her neck. "I have extensive plans for your body, agent, and they don't include the tiny hitch of pain you think I wouldn't notice when we assume some of our more interesting positions."

"Interesting positions, right. Like this one? Shower corner #72?" Natasha closed her eyes and allowed him to walk them back and lift her against the cool stone (it felt divine against her sore muscles) before he wound her legs around his waist. "So this is all self-interest, right?"

"Exactly." He kissed her temple, earlobe, neck. "All self-interest. Come with me to Asgard, agent."

"No, I really can't."

The thick head of his cock pressed against her clit, circled it in just the right rhythm. "Come with me, Natasha."

"No."

He splayed one hand on her chest to hold her up as he bent, licked the quivering flesh. Damn, he really wasn't playing fair. Natasha gasped under the ministrations from his tongue, the teasing licks just off-center, the long swirl when she couldn't hold back any longer, stopping just as she was on the verge.

"Come with me." Loki's mouth tasted of her and his own virile flavor. He thumbed her clit, his prick hovering at the slick entrance.

"No…"

"Come." His whisper was intense in her ear as he slid the tip inside.

Natasha's hips jerked forward by themselves, she could have sworn, but he held her back with that same firm grip. "I…_fuck,_ Loki."

The same depraved grin. "Very well, but only if you say Yes."

"Fuck you." The words expelled from her mouth with her breath, coming hot and fast with desire. "Yes. Okay? Happy now?"

A shiver feathered his long frame. "Thank the gods. I couldn't have held back much longer." Loki slipped inside and Natasha arced into him, shouting his name.

* * *

That night she made him stay, told him to ice her shoulder again. As she slid into sleep, Natasha felt she was falling, falling off a narrow bridge into deep water, so sharp and clear and cold the sensation stole her breath away.


	2. Cold Comfort, part Tveir

**Cold Comfort, part Tveir**

* * *

_Note: I got a request for more of this story, so here it is._

* * *

Something was definitely up. Romanoff had disappeared for several days, and there were no travel plans in her name according to Jarvis. Stark knew Natasha had her own ways of sliding under the radar, but still – there should have been some surfing from her laptop recorded on websites for hotels, train tickets, plane rides. Something.

Muttering, Stark went through the info again. "Nothing from twelve months prior," Jarvis stated.

"Damn. How about bike rentals? Canoes? Snowshoes, for fuck's sake." Tony was ready to explode.

"Spying on the people who rent your rooms?" Steve sat across the room in his usual t-shirt, so white and clean it was like a hole in reality.

"Yeah, well, it's Tuesday." Tony checked the datestamp on the screen. "Holy shit – it really _is_ Tuesday. You know what that means?"

"No, I don't." Steve obviously had no desire to find out.

"Three-for-one night at Womack's, duh. Wonder if Romanoff is back yet from wherever she went?"

"Isn't Womack's a bar?" Steve asked.

"No, Steve. It is not a bar. It is _the_ bar. A place where they serve only the frostiest beverages, the hottest wings, and the saltiest fries in the nine realms – or is it ten now? I get confused."

"But I thought you said Natasha was no fun as a drinking partner." Steve had turned his attention back to his own screen.

"I did say that, didn't I?" Tony drummed his fingers on the lab table. "You'd think someone that hot would be a blast in the club. Hell, she _was_ a blast when she worked undercover for me. Natalie Rushman was pure sass clad in tight leopardskin. But Romanoff, on the other hand, sits in the darkest corner she can find and gets annoyed if anyone tries to interrupt her consumption of fermented potato juice."

"You could ask me instead." The voice was as dark as Natasha's bar corner, coming from an occupant who had shimmered into the room. At least, that was Tony's hypothesis – how else did Loki simply appear in a chair, boots up on his personal desk?

Tony shrugged. "Fine. Good luck with that. If you can find Womack's I'll see you there. By the way, there's no sign on the street, and no, it doesn't have a website."

"I shall attend." Loki removed his feet from the stack of Tony's tech manuals, gave Steve a sidelong look, and loped out of the room.

"Think he's going to be any more fun than Natasha?" Steve grinned.

"Put it this way – he couldn't be any more of a drag."

* * *

Tony quickly discovered he was wrong. When Loki walked into the pub (because of course he was able to find it even without directions) and sat at the bar, he spread his knees so far apart Tony had to put an empty stool as buffer between them. Loki complained loudly the three-for-one special didn't include mead. When he was finally given a drink, Loki fixed his gaze upon the bartender and did not look away as he downed the entire contents of his glass.

"Got something written on my forehead?" the man asked with a pleasant smile.

"No, I am merely contemplating what you would look like if I decapitated you." Loki banged the glass on the bar.

Tony pointed at the bartender to fill it. "It's Act Like an Asshat Day," he muttered, waving in Loki's direction. The god merely transferred his disquieting stare to him, and Tony snuck out his phone. _Send help,_ he texted and sent it to everyone on his contacts list. After another round he was ready for anyone, even Agent Ward, to join them and take some of the heat.

So when a hand fell on his shoulder, he looked up with glad tidings springing to his lips. They withered, however, when he saw it was Romanoff herself who had joined them. "Stop giving obtuse angles a bad name," she snarled, smacking Loki's thigh with the flat of her hand. He grunted and moved one long leg fractionally, just enough for her to wedge herself between him and Tony. "Vodka," she added. _"Now._ No ice, just fucking cold vodka in the biggest fucking glass you have."

The bartender gave Tony a reproachful stare, and Stark thought how much he wished he could leave the bar, get on a plane, and fly to a private island. Just him and the bartender, with no Russians or gods anywhere in sight. That would be the only way to salvage the evening, he was pretty sure. Heaving a deep sigh, he added a twenty to the pile of bills and told the man to keep the change.

At the sight of the cash, the bartender brightened a bit and produced a menu. "Wings on special," he said. "Any degree of heat you want."

"They're never spicy enough for me," Natasha snorted.

"What does it all mean?" Loki stuck his long nose into the menu.

Tony ignored him. "Never spicy enough! Romanoff, Womack's wings start at Baby Formula and go all the way up to Ludicrous level." An evil thought occurred to him, and he nudged her. "Tell you what – dare you to try the Ludicrous wings."

Natasha flashed him a green, murderous glance. "One plate of Ludicrous wings," she said to the bartender.

"I will also have some of the Ludicrous wings," Loki added.

With gathering triumph, Tony began to see the night was not wasted after all. "Care to make it interesting? Twenty bucks says you can't finish the whole order."

"Twenty!" Loki finished his drink and beckoned for another. "What are we, children? Make it really interesting if we must do this ridiculous thing."

"Okay. You finish those wings, and I'll serenade Romanoff. Give up and you have to sing to her."

She snorted again, and Loki smiled for the first time: the grin of a crocodile hanging by the only waterhole in the savannah. "It amazes me how much you can convey with those snorts of yours, agent," he said. "They are better than the AllTongue."

"I'll give you AllTongue," she shot back instantly.

Tony felt his mouth drop open. The two most lugubrious, brooding, prickly beings at Stark Tower were actually engaging in what Steve would call Grandstanding or Having a Gas. "Did you just…" he began, but he was interrupted by the arrival of the Ludicrous Wings. They were accompanied by celery sticks, blue cheese dressing, and lab-grade goggles.

"We highly suggest you put those on first." The bartender pointed to the goggles.

Natasha ignored the lab glasses as she drew on one leather glove, picked up a wing, and bit into it. She chewed impassively, swallowed, and chased it with vodka. "Not bad."

Loki watched her intently before picking up his own food. He bit in, and his usually pale skin turned slightly pink. Tony watched as the god rose from the stool. "Just going to the back chambers. Save my seat."

He wafted off a tad more hurriedly than usual, and Natasha elbowed Tony. "That little shit! He's going to go and spit it out in the sink. Can you believe it? What a crock – he's totally cheating, and I'm not letting him get away with it."

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you ate that stick of nuclear waste." Tony watched in awe as Natasha had another wing, wiped her gloves delicately on a napkin, and chased it with vodka.

"It's simple – I did several ops in Thailand for the Soviet Union. This is nothing compared to some of their pickles."

"Oh." Tony deflated. "Thailand, right."

Loki reappeared at their barstools, still wearing his Crocodile at the Watering Hole grin. "Have you ever heard of _Örvar-Odds? _You have to make a rhyme or drain your glass."

"I'll kick your ass," Natasha said instantly. "Drink."

"You're a buxom lass," Tony ventured.

"Drink for being a loser," she said. "We're playing a drinking game, not dungeons and dragons."

"Exactly. These are bar glasses, not flagons." Loki raised his cup, clinked it against Tony's, and downed the shot.

"This is the best game ever! Bartender – what's your name?" Tony thought quickly and added, "Just for the game.

"Stan," the bartender responded. "Stan the man." Obviously he was pleased to encourage rhymes instead of decapitation scenarios.

"Here's to Stan!" Tony roared. "And Loki's non-existent tan!"

"Another round, and you can pay. Make it today." Natasha held her glass out to Stan with a meaningful look in her eye.

* * *

By the time the bar was emptying out, Tony, Loki, and Natasha were on a table in the back weaving the complicated measures of a dance Loki called the Coif-Thrower. "Last call," a bored-looking waitress said as she passed them.

At the same time, Tony and Loki discovered they could toss Natasha in the air and she would always land on her feet "like a cat," Tony said. "You really should be Black Cat, not Black Widow."

"Drink for being stupid." She handed him his glass, and he nodded. Natasha was right - Black Cat was a stupid spy name. Tony chugged the contents and called for another shot.

Stan refused to serve them anymore, so the three struggled to the street. Tony was in the center, being kept upright by Natasha and Loki. He managed to hail a cab, and they poured themselves into the backseat. "No more alcohol," he mourned. "Oh, well, we can just bring the party to the penthouse."

Loki and Natasha seemed to exchange a look over his head. "There is always more alcohol." From a hidden pocket, the god produced a flask made of some opalescent stone with the scene of a nymph being ravished by a satyr embossed on the side and handed it to Tony.

"Good man." Tony seized the flask, drank, and coughed loudly. The liquid was so strong he felt his lungs were sucked out of his chest, turned inside-out, spring-cleaned in Pine-Sol, and hung up to dry. "Holy shit! That's worse than Ludicrous Wings!"

Natasha grabbed the flask, stared at Tony, and gulped down several mouthfuls before handing it back to Loki. "You're such a wuss, Stark."

Perhaps it was the effect of the alcohol. Tony suddenly felt filled with the spirit of friendship and joy, and he spread his arms along the backseat of the cab to embrace Loki and Natasha. "You know, I thought you two were the worst drinking partners ever, but you're okay. We should do this again. By the way, Romanoff, why were you able to flip yourself around like that in the bar? Thought you were having back trouble. Fragment of a smart bullet lodged in your vertebrae or something, I heard."

"It got fixed," she answered in a vague tone. "Look, we're at the Tower." Her fist wrapped around Tony's collar, and he was heaved onto the sidewalk.

"Urgh. Suddenly I don't feel too good." He lurched into the building, and Natasha pushed him inside the elevator.

* * *

When Tony got back to his penthouse, he suddenly recalled Loki had lost the Ludicrous Wing challenge. Filled with righteous anger, he told Jarvis to facetime the god so he could give Loki a rash of well-deserved shit.

The screen flickered, and a picture appeared. Tony blinked, rubbed his eyes, and zoomed in. No, it was not a drunken illusion – Loki had Romanoff backed against the wall of his bedroom, engaged in what sounded like the Norse version of a serenade. The words were foreign, but the song sounded extremely tender. His arm was fisted on the wall, preventing her escape, and the other hand caressed her hip.

Tony was about to alert Jarvis and call Steve, maybe Bruce as well for backup, when Romanoff laughed. It was a low, breathy sound, filled with sensual promise. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"Is this web woven and wound of entrails, and heavy weighted with heads of the slain…" Loki said. "The words come from the song of the Valkyries."

One corner of Natasha's mouth lifted. "Web woven and wound of entrails," she repeated. "I like it."

"I knew you would." Loki's mouth covered hers, and Tony suddenly realized he was eavesdropping on a private moment.

He cut the connection and sat back. Everything had just become extremely clear. Natasha had gone to Asgard during those missing days with Loki and been healed there, so she was back to being her original nimble vixen self. And, more importantly, at some point the two had started fucking like rabbits.

Tony wondered what he should do with the information. Go to Fury? Thing was, he had never been that kid who raised his hand right before the bell rang to shout, "Oh teacher, you forgot to collect the homework!"

Plus there was the matter of how much fun they had been together. Loki was a drag in the bar, and Natasha was worse. On their own, they made him wish for eye-pins and a cold KoolAid at Jonestown. But as a 'couple', if that word could ever be used with the god and the spy, they were a blast. In Tony's opinion, anyone who passed the Womack's test was fine with him – and those two had aced it.

Slowly he shut down his computer, stumbled into the bedroom, and fell facedown into the pillows. As he slid into a dreamless sleep, he thought he would let Loki and Natasha keep their secret.


End file.
